


Close To You Close To Me

by zzoaozz



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank finds him self on the receiving end of a secret admirer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flowers and Four Arms

By the time the florist’s van had entered the long driveway leading to the Xavier Institute for the Gifted, a dozen students had spotted it through ordinary and less than ordinary methods. A steady stream of young people of all ages, primarily girls, surged into the entryway almost bowling Henry McCoy, the school’s physician, engineer, and resident scientist, over in their enthusiasm. They milled anxiously about shoving ever so subtly to be the first to find out who had received the coveted gift of flowers and for what occasion. The adult ladies of the mansion were all away on a ‘girl’s getaway’ for two weeks, so the flowers were most likely for one lucky student from a boyfriend no doubt hoping to get lucky himself. 

Henry leaned back against a stairwell and watched them with fond affection. He, like the students, was a mutant the kind they liked to show on television, the kind too inhuman to hide beneath a clever outfit or a pair of sunglasses. His code name was The Beast, and at first glance it seemed to suit him. He was built rather like a gorilla, with huge bulging arms and legs. Long, sharp fangs flashed when he smiled or laughed as he did often and matching claws adorned his large hands and feet. He was also cobalt blue and furry all over, except the blue black portions of his hair. Yet as fierce as his appearance suggested, he was a gentle soul, a healer first and everything else second. 

The children knew that. Even the youngest seemed to figure it out the first time they looked at him, and so it was no surprise that he now found himself being hugged and snuggled and ruffled like an over-sized stuffed animal by the children filing into the room, many of whom had never known any love or affection until they arrived at the school. They zipped around him bubbling over with questions and speculations. Jubilee, one of the oldest almost a woman herself to his amazement and occasional dismay, leaned on his arm cracking her gum and keeping up a running commentary of who might send whom flowers and why. He let her rattle on until Wolverine came clomping into the room and she detached herself from his arm to hang on Logan her hands down favorite of the adults. 

He sent the Canadian a smile of sympathy laced with a touch of 'better you than me' then shifted to look as a ripple of appreciative murmurs moved through the room. He could have sworn the very smell of the air changed from adolescent pheromones kicking into high gear as Gambit swept into the crowd with a sultry smile and a provocative laugh. Grace and charm flowed like sunlight from the Cajun as he blended easily into the youthful crowd chattering and flirting with effortless finesse. Hank watched him with the same almost motherly protectiveness he felt for the children. The Cajun was a roguish charmer and the doctor was no more immune to him than the children that adored him. Logan seemed to be the only one that did not find the former thief’s behavior endearing. 

As if in response to Hank’s thought, Wolverine growled in the auburn haired man's general direction gently shoving Jubilee off him and toward her friends. “One of yer little chickies sending you posies, Gumbo?” The wink and flippant ‘maybe’ he got in return only made him huff more. 

“Are we having a party?” a smooth, cultured voice spoke up behind Henry.

He tilted his head and took in the blond haired, blue-eyed angel of the X-Men team. Warren Worthington the Third stood straight and tall as always, shoulders back, snowy wings upswept with not a golden curl or bit of down out of place. McCoy and Logan were probably the only two in the room who realized how much damage his wings had taken in the fierce battle to defend against the alien invaders the week before. It was his efforts that had the winged mutant on his feet and looking like his normal million dollar self, and it would be his ongoing therapy that would eventually give his teammate back his beloved sky. He realized his mind was wandering and he was probably staring, but before he could even be embarrassed, Warren graced him with a warm and grateful smile that lit up sky blue eyes and softened the arrogant set of his features. That smile, perfect teeth, sun kissed skin, just the right amount of lift to the pale eyebrows, seemed to lighten his spirits and reassure him all at once. A manicured hand came to rest on his shoulder. Slender fingers squeezed just a moment then remained there companionably.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” 

“Better. Thanks to you, I made it through my morning workout with Scott without even limping. That’s the first time since the battle.”

“Excellent! We have the technology to speed-mend muscle, bone, and cartilage, but tendon and ligament damage is still a matter of time and a careful mix of therapy and rest.”

“Your therapy is working miracles, Henry.”

“But you, my winged friend, are not very good at the rest part.” His voice was gently chiding. 

“I know; I know.” 

“Lean on me, old friend. You weigh next to nothing. I promise I will not tell a soul, unless of course they bribe me with chocolate.” Warren laughed but took him up on his offer shifting his weight off his injured right leg and letting his wings droop behind him relieving the strain from the most injured connective tissues. Henry felt a pointed chin dig into his shoulder a little as Warren settled against his back with a quiet sigh of relief. “I want you in the lab as soon as we see the show. I think even you will rest with a nice dose of Cyclobenzaprine in you.”

“You know you can’t hide it forever, don’t you?” 

“Hide what?” He cast his eyes to his right shoulder taking in the playful smirk on his teammate’s face. 

“The fact that under that sweet exterior is a mean ole country doctor who likes to give shots and terrible tasting potions and make good little boys stay home in bed when everyone else gets to go out and play.” 

“Tough love, you spoiled brat.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Add a Smurf to that as the children have been doing lately and I will hurt you,” Hank warned.

“Smurf? Hmm... Now there's an idea.” 

“You wouldn’t d-“ He was interrupted before he could finish the protest by the ringing of the doorbell. 

Kitty was nearest the door and flung it open cooing in delight as the delivery proved to be a graceful Asian style enameled vase overflowing with old fashioned red tea roses and to his own delight fat white peonies. He inhaled deeply as the scent wafted through the hallway. They were his favorite flower, he even had one bush he had brought from his grandmother’s farm and lovingly planted beside his window the day they opened the school. The smell would creep in on the morning breeze and take him back to those simpler days. He rolled his eyes at the turn of his thoughts. He was entirely too young to be sounding like his mother even in the privacy of his own mind.

The deliveryman looked at the large group and tilted up the card on the bouquet. He made a great show of taking his time and letting the excitement build before solemnly intoning, “flowers for a Dr. Hank McCoy.”

He blinked sure he had misheard, but the clamor from the group was proof enough he had not. In short order, the flowers had been passed from person to person and delivered into his hands. Someone signed and the deliveryman slipped out unnoticed. Suddenly he was the focus of every eye in the place. The students would have pressed in even closer had Warren not straightened up and stepped out to his side. Even though he was younger than Hank by quite a bit and not as powerful as some of the students, the winged mutant was a Worthington; and he wore his wealth and power like armor, armor that could at his will become a weapon of intimidation second to none. 

His presence kept the others at a respectful distance and Hank gave him a look of thanks as he lifted the card from the little plastic holder and gazed at the elegant calligraphy on the gilded paper. He opened it carefully and unfolded the heavy paper inside. The note was written in the same hand in a script only slightly less stylish than the envelope. He read it silently a second time feeling a warmth grow somewhere in the pit of his stomach and an odd tingling in his extremities. It read:

Thank you for the hope and peace you bring into my life.   
When I lose sight of the reasons why I continue this fight,   
I turn to you and find my faith in your compassionate eyes.  
As you stand and read this letter, know that I am near  
And you are never alone.  
We share the same dream, you and I.   
So read this letter and smile.   
I alone will know that your smile is for me  
And I will lock the memory away in my heart  
And keep it there until the day I can hold you in my arms. 

“What does it say?” Jubilee coaxed, “we’re all like dying of curiosity here!”

“You should report to the infirmary then, my dear, although you look rather healthy to me.”

“Aw at least tell us who they’re from,” Kitty bounced on her toes. 

“I don’t know, the card isn’t signed.” 

There was a general uproar that went on until Warren cut it short with the magic words. “I thought everyone wanted to go to the mall this afternoon?” The uproar turned into enthusiastic whoops then the group grew quiet waiting for the details and conditions like a pack of hounds waiting for the huntsman’s horn. 

“That was why Gambit come up here,” the Cajun drawled playfully. “Since the girls all go away, he need to console himself somehow, oui?” The answering chorus he got only encouraged his showmanship. “So, go pretty up petites and meet Gambit in the garage. Charlie give us all a nice lil’ bit o’spending money and th’only thing you -HAVE- t’get out of it is the fixin's for your science fair project. Now don’t be forgettin’ those lists.” 

“You going with him, Wings?” Logan growled as the children stampeded through the halls.

“No, I am still grounded.” He gave the doctor a pointed look then smiled as he saw McCoy gazing at the flowers with soft, distant eyes.

“Huh, I think we lost Blue.” Wolverine’s gravelly voice was surprisingly gentle. “No way should Gumbo be taking that many younguns to the mall by himself, what was Chuck thinking?” 

“Hmm, you know you may be right, Wolverine. Perhaps you should go with him, just to make sure he doesn't let them run wild.” Warren nodded thoughtfully, "Great idea. I completely approve. I’ll clear it on my authority and thank you for thinking of it. I would hate for Remy to allow any of the children to overspend or make themselves ill on junk food, or pierce anything that should not be pierced." 

“Yeah, or have ‘em all in jail fer shoplifting and lewd behavior,” he stomped off toward the garage grumping to himself as he went.

“And whose plan was that? It’s a little too slick to be Scott’s so it must have been yours or Charles’.” Hank looked up from the card with amused eyes.

“The Professor was the one who wanted Wolverine to go. He thinks they balance each other better than Scott or Kurt would. It was my idea to let him volunteer himself rather than ask him outright. When he realizes I tricked him, I may need more than a muscle relaxer.”

“If he jumps on you, call me. Bad as the Wolverine is, I’m still bigger. It won’t hurt him to lend a hand with the children now and again anyway. He should earn that adoration they give him so freely. Nor would it hurt him to show you a little respect in the process. ”

“Why Henry, are you defending me?” 

“Protecting my investment,” he replied archly. “I have no intention of working those wings back into shape only to have you two undo all my hard work tussling around in the danger room in a superhero sized pissing contest.” 

Angel laughed cheerfully. “I see where your concerns lay, Doctor. I think I should be pouting, but it would gain me no sympathy with you.” He grew serious then, “trust me, I will not do anything to keep me earthbound a minute longer than have to be. I really do thank you for everything, Henry. It’s hard to explain, but once you have flown on your own wings, it is like an addiction.” He looked up at the large picture window on the landing wistfully. “It’s like being thirsty and seeing a tall, cold bottle of water just outside your reach.”

Hank reached up and clasped his shoulder. “I will have you aloft again soon, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” he whispered sincerely. 

“Come on, let me put these in my room and we’ll get to work.”

“Reps first?” 

“How hard did you work out with Scott? Tumbling? Gliding?”

“No, I was good, honestly. We did some boxing and running but mostly talking. He needed it.”

“He has a great deal he needs to get out and you are the only one he has opened up to since Jean’s death. I would say that was a forgivable risk. We’ll skip the reps this once and I’ll work on the muscles.”

“Then you’ll tuck me into bed on enough Flexoril to take down the Hulk?”

“Not quite that much but certainly enough to give your acrocoracohumeral ligament a chance to heal.” 

“Uh huh, my acrisomething.”

He laughed, “ the almost ridiculously small ligament that stabilizes your entire wing and its shoulder during flight.”

“That sounds rather important. What do you mean its shoulder, my shoulders are fine.”

“Technically my friend, you have four arms.” He grinned when Angel’s steps paused a long moment. “It’s true,” he affirmed pleased with the stunned look the young man turned on him and continued the lesson with relish, “so each wing’s socket which lies just above your shoulder blades toward the center of your back instead of on the outside like a bird’s wings because your center of balance is completely unique are technically shoulders.” He opened the door to the med lab allowing Warren to move past him and start the process of undressing. “Then each of your wings has a humerus, radius, ulna, biceps, triceps, just like in your normal arms only adapted for flight. The long bone that runs from where it folds down to the tip is actually a finger.” He carried the bouquet to the small table by his door and set it down with a last, long sniff. “So I suppose the real question is why you don’t also have four legs or for that matter a tail such as birds have to help you steer in flight. You would be even more agile and stable than you are now if you had one.” 

Warren sat down on the examination table and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “ I've actually wondered about that before. Other winged things don’t have arms, just legs and their wings. That would be very inconvenient as would four legs. A set of tail feathers might be nice though. It would help in braking to land as well. I could get more stopping power with less thrashing.” He laughed, “as if it isn't hard enough to get clothes tailored to me as it is.” 

Hank turned on the imaging scanner and raised the right wing stretching it up and out. The wall sized computer monitor greyed out for a moment then the internal structures swam into focus. He tapped a portable keyboard and a small thin band highlighted in gold. “This is that important little fellow.” He ran his hands along the wing pressing carefully into the stabilizing band. “If not for it, the forces on your wings in flight would tear them to pieces. See the bulge here? That’s the inflamed area, where the fibers have separated. These tendons are also inflamed here where you rashly lifted that large male and the car to which he was attached. Effective as it was, that was not an overly smart move. You actually stretched them beyond their normal range and they tore so once the adrenaline faded, the pain hit. Am I boring you yet?”

“If I had a tutor like you, I might have become a zoologist or biologist or something and made dad proud.” 

“I think superhero suits you a little better, you do not exactly look the part of the mousy little lab assistant with coke bottle glasses and no social life or the absent minded professor with his little horn rims perched on his nose.” He touched his own glasses for emphasis.

Warren grinned then sighed in pure bliss as the doctor’s warm hands began to glide over his back and shoulders. The massage was gentle and soothing at first but as he worked it grew stronger reaching deeper stretching and manipulating both the muscles and the connective tissue working it loose, even moving the joints in small careful motions. His sighs were now grunts or smothered groans. As usual, about the time he was sure he could not stand another moment, the massage gentled again.

"Still with me, Angel?" 

"Barely." He was slicked with sweat now and shivering a little. "Are you sure you aren't psychic? You always stop just a second before I scream."

"Actually I am cheating. I have one of Cerebro's monitors reading your brain waves, specifically the ones that register pain. See over there, the top image? The reds are already fading to oranges and yellows, when they smooth out to green in just a moment, we'll move on to the thigh." 

"Oh joy,” he replied sarcastically then smiled, "Actually the thigh does not hurt nearly as much."

"It was more muscle damage and thus easier to heal." He let go of the wing with a last light brush to smooth a few errant feathers back into place and stretched his fingers before moving around the table and running his injured leg through a series of stretches and low impact exercises. 

"I am very pleased with it. I don't think we need any more work on it other than resting it whenever it feels tired. You may find you still want to favor it, especially when you are tired, but try not to do that. Use it normally and don’t learn any patterns that will become habit later." He took a step back and looked thoughtfully at Warren. "If you just rest where I can see you and make sure you don't stir a feather, I won't drug you. Why don't you pile up on my couch, which is very comfy, trust me. You can watch movies or something until dinner. I'll make you something to eat, then by the time the kids get back I'll feel secure in turning you loose."

Warren grinned, "hmm, people might think we're up to something."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Like what?" 

"I'll think of something to get up to, Papa Smurf."

He swatted the well-muscled thigh. "And I’ll bring out mean ole Mr. Hypo." 

"That’s not fair.”

“A fair is a place to ride rides and eat cotton candy, my friend, this is the real world.” 

Henry offered him a hand and Warren rose gracefully from the table. His wings snapped out around them rustling loudly and pushing a wave of air as they flexed shaking his feathers neatly back into place. Hank felt a wave of disorientation as for a moment the world became living walls of pristine white, then the wings were gone with a soft whisper of displaced air and Warren was standing sheepishly in his red running shorts with his hands behind his back. 

“ Uhm, sorry. I do that without thinking, sometimes.”

“They seem much larger up close like that and definitely no snapping them like that.” 

He chuckled softly and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You know, your couch sounds like a pretty good deal right now.”

He smiled and took his friend’s elbow guiding him through the door to his private quarters and settling him in on his own pillows. “I’ll get you a cup of tea and some Tylenol.” 

“My hero,” he answered softly. He picked up the remote and flipped through the regular TV channels. He was not too big on television or movies so he finally stopped it on a documentary about a jungle somewhere. The announcer had a smooth melodic voice and he kicked his feet up curling around the pillows until his wings lay comfortably against the back of the couch. He was almost asleep when Hank dropped a blanket over him and set a mug within easy reach on the coffee table. He made a soft sound of thanks as the blue mutant sat down at his feet. He let his bare feet wiggle out of the blanket to rest against Hank’s hip. “You looked happy when you read that card, you smiled.” 

“I did?” Hank absently caught his ankles and lifted them into his lap skillfully massaging the long, slender feet and graceful arches. He noted with no little amusement that The Angel had absolutely lovely feet and even the toes were perfectly pedicured with skin was soft as a lady’s hands. 

“Mmmm, yeah you did, and that feels incredible.” 

“I’m sure the Worthington Empire has a few skilled masseuses in its employ.”

“Yes but none of them are as good as you.” 

“Oh, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I certainly hope so.” He stretched enough to grab the tea and sipped it thoughtfully. “What kind of bird is that?” He nodded toward the TV.

“A Bowerbird, it is building that house to impress the female. He paints it up with berries and stocks it with food to show her what a good provider he is. Like most male birds, he is quite the show off.” 

“So you weren't impressed when I lifted that male alien and the Kia? I thought it was rather macho looking.” 

“I was not in the least impressed any more than I was awed when you swooped down in that hard dive and plowed into the Queen to distract her long enough for Logan to gut her.”

“Aw tough crowd, that was a great move. The news played it a dozen times.” 

“Your adoring public,” he teased.

“One of these days, I will impress you, Henry McCoy. Just you wait and see,” he muttered quietly. 

Hank patted the feet in his lap soothingly then pulled the blanket over them. “You often impress me, my friend.” He turned cobalt eyes to the fair face snuggled against his dark blue pillow case. Asleep Angel looked sweet, no other word fit. His lips were soft and slack and slightly parted, golden lashes rested on cream cheeks and honey curls tumbled over his neck charmingly. He looked innocent and far too young to be a warrior. The doctor sighed as he slipped out from under his feet and went to retrieve his flowers. 

He re-read the card as he carried the flowers to the table. His mind was busily examining the words as he worked on dinner. The card seemed to indicate that the person who sent it had been present when he received it. That ruled out all the X-Ladies and pretty much left the students, the guys, and the small handful of civilians who worked at the school. None of them had been present though, unless they were watching from somewhere he had not noticed. That was possible. Then again, the card had mentioned the fight and the dream they both shared, that sounded like a teammate more than a student or a civilian. If his admirer was male, some things in the card made more sense. His admirer wanted to hold him in his or her arms instead of being held, that was more in keeping with a male. He tapped his claw thoughtfully on the salad bowl. He did not mind being held at all and he was open to new experiences. Love was love, wherever it came from. His eyes moved back to the slumbering form on his couch. Maybe his admirer was a young attractive male like Warren or Gambit, or even Kurt with his exotic and nearly inhuman beauty, or even Logan, who for all his faults threw off enough sheer, animal masculinity to never want for bed partners.

He chuckled at the very thought of Logan penning a note so close to poetry and tried to clear his mind as he turned the steaks. He was as foolish as the girls getting so excited when for all he knew the flowers were someone’s idea of a joke. Still, those words had sounded so sincere if words could be said to have any tone other that whatever the reader added in his own mind. 

He slid the steaks off onto the sensible and miraculously resilient Corelle plates his mother had given him when he had left home for medical school. Edna McCoy had been convinced her favorite son would surely starve in the dangerous world of bachelorhood so she taught him to cook and stocked him with the supplies to do so. She had given him the dinnerware when he was seventeen and they had survived college, medical school, attacks by aliens, monsters, and mutants, fires, floods, and riots. Only one teacup was missing and that one he had broken himself crushing it in his hand when at last the shock had worn off and Jean's death had hit home.  
Next


	2. Candy and Flight

“Perhaps we should wait another week,” Hank mused gazing up at the perfect blue sky dotted with fat white clouds. 

“You wouldn’t!”

“Hmm. I just don’t know.” 

Angel all but bounced on the heels of his feet, “please, pretty please, come on!”

He laughed into the dancing eyes that knew darn well he was only teasing. “Fly, Angel, fly! Slowly!” he added quickly as his companion turned and wasted no time running to the edge of the roof and leaping off. 

He smiled triumphantly as the great white wings spread and beat the air steadily gaining altitude. His heart seemed to soar as if it were his own limbs working so flawlessly. His eyes followed his path assessing the smoothness of the flight. He had chosen his white and blue flight suit which made his body blur into the colors of the sky and dazzle the onlooker, but his eyes were sharper than human normal. He did not miss the look of near bliss on the young man’s face, nor the rather wicked smirk and wink that suddenly swept his features as he took a sharp turn to the right and went into a barrel roll that caused his observer to gasp. Then the wings opened fully and he stabilized and he was giving him an insufferably smug look.

“Brat!” he shouted and he could have sworn he saw Warren laughing. 

Angel ran through a set of simple aerobatics, soaring, diving, though not too fast, spiraling turns that started out wide circles then narrowed until he was pivoting on his right wing tip, then he switched sides and ran through the movements on the left tip. Only when his watch chimed the reminder Hank had personally set, did he glide in for a landing coming to a graceful halt beside the doctor. 

“Well?” Henry asked watching his face intently. 

“No pain, a very slight stiffness in the roll, but no pain at all.”

Henry was more than pleased as he took in the young man’s windblown hair and contagious grin. "No more than twenty minutes at a time and no more than twice a day for a week or two. I want you in the lab each evening so I can check for inflammation or new tearing. Also no solo flights, my friend, make sure someone is on the ground watching. -Someone that can physically catch you if you fall," he amended, “like me or Logan, Nightcrawler, or Storm.”

"A week or two?" Warren's voice was pleading. "They feel great, really. I'll be careful."

"No puppy dog eyes. You might convince me to give in to you. Then if they collapsed in flight and I couldn't bring them back, I would never forgive myself." He saw the begging look sober as the realization that he had almost lost the ability to fly hit him. Then the gaze softened. 

"Thank you for caring, Henry." 

He blinked surprised at the turn. "You aren't going to push the issue?" 

"No."

"Why not? You never give in that easy."

"Hmm, let me get back with you on that." 

Hank watched him head back inside then followed none the wiser as he swung toward the hallway where Scott was sorting through the mail. Some of the children still had parents who wrote but most did not. One of Angel's personal vendettas was making sure no one failed to get some mail each week. He found pen pals for those who were interested and each child in the place had accumulated a magazine subscription or two. Some received animal, recipe, space, or other novelty cards. Then there were days like today where each child got a neat white envelope with the embossed AngelsWings Foundation logo on it. The kids were all waiting in the TV room already anxious for Scott to finish so they could check their boxes. Those envelopes always meant presents. It would be something for all of them to do together and usually meant a day off from classes as well. 

"What is it this time?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Movie tickets to see that new CGI movie they've been drooling over. He rented out the theater so there's something G for the younger children and probably enough soda and snacks to keep them bouncing off the walls for a week," the team leader replied dryly. 

He chuckled, "they deserve it after that scare with the mutant registration supporters on the Fourth."

"I thought so too. Oh, those two are for you. They came special delivery while I was collecting the regular mail. On"

"Ah, Holcomb labs, that would be the new specimens I requested." He picked up the brown cardboard box and looked at the one below it. There were no identifying marks on it, just the neatly printed shipping labels. The return address read Vosges Haut Chocolat and a neat line of script read ' A Gift Handpicked For you'. He was almost as anxious to discover what was inside the box as the children were to see their gifts, but for some reason, he wanted to open it in private. He scooped up the two boxes and strolled back down to his own rooms. He made himself tend to the specimens first then plopped down on the couch to open the box. 

It was candy, a beautifully packaged collection of exotic looking truffles that smelled utterly heavenly. Inside the box was a note. He turned it in his hand noting the same handwriting on the top flap of the folded paper, his full name again in somewhat less formal but no less elegant script. He opened it slowly savoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the tingling in his ears. It read:

It can be strange to one day discover   
that friendship you have long treasured   
has quietly grown into something more.   
To find one kind of love has grown unnoticed   
into something entirely different   
and so much more- distracting.   
I am not sure how this happened.   
One morning I woke up and realized   
it was you, my friend, that I made love with in my dreams.   
I had been attracted to other men before,   
but never anything like what I was feeling for you.   
From there, it grew stronger   
each time we trained or taught   
or fought by each other's side   
until I found myself touching you   
when we passed in the hallways,   
watching you from the audience   
when you gave your presentations,   
and swapping schedules   
just to be near you when you were off duty.   
Not that you ever actually take any time off.   
I hope this is not disconcerting you.   
I will eventually find the courage to reveal myself to you,  
but for now I am terrified of losing your friendship.   
It means more to me than I have words to say.  
In my dreams, you accept me with open arms and an open heart.   
Until dreams come true, I am ever and always faithfully yours.


	3. Friends and More

He closed his eyes and held the card to his chest for a long while then he found his note pad and wrote his own note. 

I will pray you find the courage you seek.  
Your attentions are welcome,   
Your words warm my heart.  
I long for the day that I know the face  
Of the voice that has invaded my own dreams. 

 

He did not sign it, just folded it up and taped it to the outside of the cardboard box the chocolates had arrived in. He set the box just outside the door and went back to work after a couple of the incredible truffles and a fresh cup of coffee. When he checked the hallway several hours later, the box was still there but the note was gone. He smiled as he carried it back inside to be recycled. Now he had a way to respond to his shy admirer and he would root him out soon. 

Then what? He paused as his always active mind seized on that thought. He had never had any kind of relationship with a male before, he had no idea what to do or to expect. He shut off the microscope and moved to his desk snagging another candy as he passed. He typed a few words into the search engine and found himself deep in a world he had never even begun to imagine where men did things he had never heard of to one another. By the time he was confident he had found a few reliable resources among the mountains of pornography he was seriously considering reformatting his hard drive to make sure no one else ever accidentally discovered the sites he had been on for the past several hours. He had just finished running the sweeper program and the spyware checkers for the third time when someone knocked at his door. 

He jumped feeling ridiculously guilty over what he had seen. He looked down at the clock on the taskbar, time to check on Angel's wing. He would have already taken his second allowed flight. He felt a pang of disappointment at having missed it. He opened the door and tried not to look flustered as Warren entered the room. 

"Henry? Are you alright?" 

"Yes, fine. Why do you ask?" He was acutely aware that the winged mutant was shirtless and far more attractive than any of the men he seen on the net. 

"You seem out of breath." 

"I am fine, honestly. How did you do in the second flight?"

"A little slower, I thought, but Logan said the wing looked good. I think the muscles have stiffened up." 

"That would be understandable, you haven't used them properly in a while. Let me get you on the table and scan it. Then I can work the stiffness out of those muscles."

"I was hoping you would say that." 

As he ran his hand along the fine boned wing and waited for the scanner to complete the temperature mapping, he noticed how the feathers were softer than a bird's, more dense and layered. He found himself thinking of what it would be like to discover that Warren was his secret admirer. The strength of his reaction to that idea froze him in place. For a moment, his mind was assailed with images of golden skin, white feathers and blue eyes.

"Henry?" 

"Hmm?" He did not trust his voice at that moment. 

"You stopped breathing there for a moment. Is something wrong?" 

The growing edge of fear in his voice reached the consummate doctor in the man and shoved aside all inappropriate thoughts. He hastened to reassure Angel that the scan showed nothing was worse for the wear after his short flights. He had it back under control and was almost ready to beg off on the massage when his own voice fell from his mouth. 

"Why don't you stretch out on my bed. It's wide enough for you to spread your wings all the way. That way I can get to the muscles around them and in the center of your back." He wondered if it was his imagination that made it seem as if Warren took longer than normal to agree. 

He knew he was in trouble as soon as Angel lay down on his stomach, beautiful as a painting against his navy sheets. Blue again, like his furniture, blue did not show the annoying short hairs he tended to shed everywhere, but it did set his guest off like a star on the velvety night sky. His hand shook just a little and his breathing was just a little more erratic than he wanted to explain. 'Darn Internet,' he thought closing his eyes a moment then going to work. He did not have the brain wave monitor hooked up and the wings had received plenty of exercise already so he kept it gentle. When the muscles around the wings were soft and pliant, he moved down the strong back marveling at the symmetry and perfection of its form.

“You have an incredible musculature.” 

“Thanks, ah that feels so good, right there.” He lifted his wings a little inviting the doctor to touch the satin skin beneath them. 

Hank accepted the silent request and worked his hands over the strong sides, the bands of flight muscles and then down his waist to slender hips where his white sweatpants rested lightly. "And there I should stop."

He had not meant to speak aloud but Warren answered him a throaty voice, "You don't have to." 

"What?" 

"You don't have to stop on my account. Your touch is- Heaven." 

"Oh, I-" he swallowed collecting his thoughts for a moment, "I need to finish some reports and you need to rest."

"Is that what you want to do?" 

He closed his eyes. What he wanted to do was push those pants down and slide his hands over that perfect little bottom while he kissed a trail down his back. He shook his head but it was impossible to lose the image while looking down on the very back he wanted to explore.

"Yes, I need to- to go, right now." He started to rise but froze in place when Warren rolled over and sat up. It was not an easy thing to do with his wings, but he was used to it and made the awkward moves seem graceful as a ballerina. 

“What's wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” 

“No, of course not, why would you think that?” He could hear the very real concern in his voice and sat down beside him on the bed putting his hands firmly on the bare shoulders. “I am not upset with you or anyone else, I promise you. I am just a little distracted by some things going on in my personal life right now. Really, Warren, it's nothing at all to worry about.” Sharp blue eyes regarded him intently then softened as he nodded.

“Okay, I won't worry, but I will make us some coffee and listen as you tell me as much as you feel comfortable telling me. God knows you've listened to my problems a thousand times.”

He smiled, he just could not help it, besides he needed to get a hold on his thoughts right here and now before they interfered with something important. “Coffee would be lovely. Do you know where everything is?”

“I'll figure it out. I'm pretty good at that, you know.” Warren stood up stretching and shaking his wings down, though much more sedately than his normal noisy snap. 

He settled on the arm of the couch and watched as Warren moved around his kitchen. “You know when you first came to the school, you had no clue how to use a coffee maker.”

“I had no clue what a coffee maker was. I thought you made coffee by waving your hand at your secretary or one of the domestics.” He smiled ruefully. “I wonder what my so-called peers would think of me using my Harvard business degree to teach orientation and integration to new students during the week and fighting assorted monsters, aliens, and supervillains on the weekend? Of course, knowing that bunch, the making coffee myself would shock them more. I could probably put them into therapy if I washed a dish while they watched.”

He laughed heartily, “that is absolutely terrible, the more so because I am sure it is quite true.” 

Angel laughed with him then brought two cups of coffee back to the couch. “So Doc, want to tell me what’s bothering you?” 

“Honestly, it’s nothing. I’m just doing a little soul searching here lately.”

“Does it have something to do with the flowers?” 

“Yes, it does. I seem to have a secret admirer.” 

“Ah, I suppose that warrants a little distraction. How do you feel about it? Do you want to meet this admirer?” 

“I am honestly scared to death to meet him.” 

“Afraid real life will be disappointing compared to fantasy?” 

“That's not it.” He watched Warren closely, “you don’t seem surprised that it might be a male. Not a homophobe, I take it.” 

“Don’t you know all of us pretty, rich boys are bi?” He winked playfully, “that's what we learn all those summers at the country club.” 

“Ha, ha, nice broad sweeping generalization, and oh so non-politically correct.” 

“Scandal is my middle name, much nicer than Kenneth, don’t you think?”

“I happen to like Kenneth, myself. But you aren't surprised, why is that?” 

“Actually, I tend to be pretty open minded about things like that, Hank. How do you feel about your admirer being male? Does it make you uncomfortable, curious, nervous?” 

“I've never thought about a meaningful relationship with a man before to be honest, but the more I do, the more I realize that I don't really care about what sex he is as much as I care about finding someone who understands how I feel, someone to share my life, and everything else I have with me. I've always wanted someone to love me, just the way I am, someone to let me love them in return. It's amazingly hard to find anyone willing to take the time to see past the fur and fangs to find there's this ordinary guy underneath.”

“There is nothing ordinary about you Henry McCoy. Not one little thing that is not extraordinary.” There was a quiet ferocity in his voice.

His cheeks warmed and he felt that reaction again, a rush of heat to his core, and chilliness in his extremities, a fluttery tightness in his chest.

“Thank you, Angel.” 

“So why are you afraid to find out who your admirer is?” 

“I suppose I'm afraid it will disappear like a mirage if I really touch it. I'll find out it was just some kind of joke or mistake or well-meaning charade.” 

“And what if it isn't Hank. What if he is in love with you and just afraid to find out that you don't feel the same.” 

“I don't know. I can tell him in a note to trust me and show and himself, but how can I make him believe the truth of what I say. I wish I could talk to him the way I can always talk to you.” 

Angel met his eyes and there was something in them, something that was proud and shy and mischevious and tender all at once, something that shone in the baby blue irises and made them captivating. Hank found himself mesmerized to the point where he did not hear Angel speaking until a warm hand landed on his cheek. 

“Are you still with me, Doc?”

“Ah sorry, I was just, your eyes are so blue.” 

“You are distracted aren't you?” He chuckled. “Look deep into my eyes and riddle me this, my friend. “How will your admirer know the moment you are ready to know who he is? How could he possibly tell?” 

“I don't know,” he answered honestly.

“And somehow I bet, he doesn't know either.” 

“But I have to know! I can't go on forever not knowing, wondering if we could have been happy together!”

“Shh,” he hadn't realized how anxious he has sounded until Warren took his hand and rubbed the back soothingly, “it won't be forever. Just wait a little while longer. Give him time to figure things out.”

He laughed and lowered his head, “of course. I didn't mean to sound like a flustered schoolgirl, but just between you and I, that's what I feel like.”

Warren laughed, “it's actually good to see you like this, Doc. There hasn't been nearly enough happiness in this place lately.” He brought Hank's hand up to his his lips and lightly kissed the back . “So you go right ahead and feel that way, my dear sir.” 

Hank raised his head smiling into those incredible eyes almost forgetting the secret admirer as he took in the proximity of the other mutant. “I wish-” He bit his tongue quickly as he realized what he had almost said. 

“What do you wish?” Warren asked as he let the hand he held go with what looked like reluctance. 

“I don't know, I can't seem to think very well at the moment.”

“If you need me, call. I'm just a few floors up.” 

“Thank you, Warren. I will.”


	4. Revelations and Kisses

This time the note came by mail and was in the form of a card.

I need to tell you who I am  
to find out if you feel the same.   
It is so difficult to be near you so often  
and pretend that there is nothing more  
than the friendship that has always been  
from the beginning.  
Friday night after your lecture   
I will wait for you to join me  
by the lake at the gazebo.   
I will reveal myself and my heart to you  
and pray with all that I am  
that you hold it safe and sacred  
and take me as I am.   
Until then, think of me   
and know that I think of you. 

He closed his eyes and trembled as emotion swept through him. Of course, he also realized that this was not going to help his anxiety level at the presentation, but it would be more than worth it. He offered a prayer that the man behind the words would be someone he could love with all his heart. It would be heartbreaking to find out that once they met in person the magic just died away. He wanted to tell someone, to express his fears and hopes.

He took off his coat and went out into the small courtyard behind the lab. It was an enclosed area that had once been a lady's flower garden and now it served as a meditation spot. Storm had landscaped it in her usual riot of flowers and foliage and there was his grandmother's peony bush holding its own by his door. He had no need to use the stairs to get to the upper rooms. 

He flipped easily over the railing of Warren's balcony and moved to the glass doors. They were flung wide open as usual. He called out knocking lightly on the door frame. 

“Hank? Using the short route are you?” Angel stepped out of the bathroom wearing a pair of worn looking jeans that he would never have believed could have come from the millionaire's wardrobe. 

“He's going to meet me!”

A wide grin matched his own. “That's good right?”

“Better than good!” he swept the winged man into a hug and swung around the room with him in an impromptu waltz. 

Angel laughed delightedly as they came to a stop. His arms were around Hank returning the embrace strong and real and so warm and his eyes danced and skin was so soft and clean. He never even thought about it, he buried his face against his neck catching the scent of shampoo and conditioner in the golden curls. Warren did not stiffen or pull away so he kissed the silky skin just above his pulse. 

Hank froze suddenly very much aware of the lines between friendship and something else entirely and that he had just stepped pretty far across. Everything was suddenly hyper clear, something that happened when his mutant senses kicked into high gear. He could hear Angel's heart thundering like a jackhammer, his unsteady exhalation, he could smell his arousal as clearly as his aftershave. He pulled back or tried to pull back because when Warren lifted his head and their lips touched every intention of reasserting the line, apologizing, making excuses was blown away like chaff before a hurricane. His arms seemed to tighten of their own accord, his lips parted, and he was not alone. Angel pushed up blindly into the touch that was a passionate kiss before he could have said how. 

He tasted like Heaven, like every dream of desire as he yielded his mouth to his probing tongue. Some things did not need instructions, they were ingrained in the human body deeper than instinct. Kissing was one of those things and he could never have dreamed a kiss like this. When it ended with both of them breathing raggedly and staring into glazed eyes, he was trembling with desire and he could clearly feel the other mutant shivering in his arms. 

“Angel, oh my, I, I don't-” he shook his head in confusion. 

Warren brought his hand up to touch his lips then whispered, “ was that for me or for the person in those notes?” 

“I would give my heart and soul for you to be one and the same, but you aren't are you? You're so- and I'm- it couldn't be. Could it?”

“What do you think?” 

“It's inordinately hard to think when you're standing here in my arms so close. The writer is literate, intelligent, artistic, his gifts were in good taste, expensive taste, please God tell me it was you, Angel.”

“If I do, do we still have a date by the lake, because I put a lot of work into planning it?” Angel's voice sounded shaky and frightened and almost begging. 

“Yes, oh yes,” he whispered and felt tears threaten. 

“I love you, Hank.” Warren said with naked honesty. 

He answered it the best way his spinning brain could think to at the moment. He pressed their lips together and the second kiss was just as mind blowing as the first.


End file.
